


Telahn

by My_Beating_Hart



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Daemons, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Same-Sex Daemons, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 12:43:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5744269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets of before, during and after the Blight through the lens of an obligatory daemon AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telahn

“Do you think the humans were lying?” Theron finally spoke as the two elves clambered over a fallen tree; Revasulahn was enviably nimble as she fluttered clear over the obstacle, the vivid blue bars on her wings flashing against the green of the forest and the dusky brown feathers of her body. Telahn, however, needed a slight run before he was able to clear the tree with a single graceful bound, but his hooves were silent on the mossy undergrowth when he landed, a flowing sweep of fluid silver.

“I don’t think so.” Tamlen answered, looking down at the carved stone he still held. “But we should check it out anyway before we go back to the camp.” His pale blue eyes were intent as he studied the written Elvish, and soon enough Reva landed on his shoulder to add her corvid focus. Theron bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from smiling at the pair of them. There wasn’t a lot that could absorb Tamlen or his jay daemon’s focus so completely. The woods seemed unsettlingly silent without their chatter to add to the birdsong.

Telahn huffed in agreement beside him, and Theron watched the blur of silver-grey move out of the corner of his vision as his own daemon scouted briefly ahead, ears pricked. Abruptly, Telahn froze and his head jerked up; the jolt of tension made Theron reach for his bow automatically as Telahn started backing towards them. His daemon’s gaze was locked on the three wolves that followed him out of the undergrowth, and as Theron nocked his first arrow Reva’s warning cry echoed loudly enough that it nearly drowned out the sound of Tamlen unsheathing his sword and urging her into a nearby tree.

 

“Get away from it, Tamlen.” Theron warned again as they stood in a cold room staring at a shimmering mirror. His fellow hunter only smirked.

“You worry too much, _lethallin_.” Tamlen reassured him as Reva landed on the head of one of the stone statues that flanked the mirror.

On the ground behind them Theron could hear and feel Telahn’s unease as he paced at the base of the pedestal. There wasn’t enough room before the mirror for him as well; not that he’d even wanted to come into the room to begin with. Theron couldn’t blame his daemon, really.

“We should go.” Theron insisted as he gave in to the faint pull that bound him to his daemon and took a step back down the stairs. Reva let out a harsh chirp of irritation, and returned to Tamlen’s shoulder. Theron watched as an unspoken moment of communication passed between them, but his hopes were dashed as Tamlen reached for the mirror again.

“It’s showing me places.” Tamlen remained adamant, even as Theron peered warily at the mirror and could only see their murky reflections.

Behind them, Telahn stamped one hoof against the aged stone in frustration.

“There’s nothing there.”

“There _is_ , can’t you see it?”

Tamlen shook his head dismissively before his eyes widened and his expression cleared with shock. Reva was frozen on his shoulder, her small claws digging into his leather armour.  
“It saw me!” he said, staring at the mirror in horror. “I can’t look away.”  
The black-haired elf reached out to grab Tamlen’s shoulder, to pull him away from the mirror, but froze when he saw the surface begin to shiver and warp, catching a glimpse of their reflections one last time before they were swallowed by a bright light. This time, Reva and Telahn’s calls of warning were deafening in such an enclosed space.

Theron suddenly felt hard stone against his back and side as he was thrown back from the pedestal, a cry of pain torn from both his and Telahn’s throat. Reva was screeching somewhere, it was impossible to tell where from in the noise of the echoes.

“Tamlen!”

~

Duncan’s daemon stared at them critically over the weak flames of their campfire, hooked beak glinting like a dagger against the firelight. Theron wasn’t sure if she was keeping an eye on them to make sure they didn’t run away, or if it was out of pity. Either way, he had no plans to go anywhere. Telahn lay behind and beside him, legs folded neatly and his side acting as a warm and solid backrest. In the past, Theron hadn’t realised how much it comforted it him, but now Telahn was all he truly had of his old life along with what he carried and wore on his back. He was the furthest he’d ever been from the clan, and he would only travel further now, to Ostagar. Telahn was the only refuge he could cling to now; Theron could feel his heart beating steadily through his armour. _I’m here. I’m here_. _I’m here._

He waited until Duncan had turned in for the night and all sounds from his tent had stopped some time ago. Even then, he still took pains to be quiet as he let his grief well up to consume him for another night. He curled up on the ground against Telahn’s bulk with his head in his hands as his body shuddered with every muffled sob and ached with the sickness that grew inside.

“You aren’t exiled.” Telahn whispered, and it was accompanied by a gentle nudge of reassurance. Long gone were the days when he could change shape and be held easily. “It wasn’t your fault.”

That only made Theron cry harder.

 ~

The clamour of Ostagar and being around so many armoured humans did little to settle their nerves; Telahn seemed to be in a constant state of alert whenever they left the relative familiarity of Duncan’s bonfire. Theron was glad when the older Warden sent him to find Alistair in some elevated corner of the ruins away from the rush of the encampment.

“The one good thing about the Blight is that it brings people together.” Alistair commented after he’d glanced them both over, and his mabari daemon grinned in agreement. “I didn’t know... halla, aren’t they? I didn’t know halla does grew antlers as well.”

Telahn shifted his weight self-consciously, but Theron saw no need to correct the mistake. Not yet, anyway. If they survived the darkspawn attack, then _maybe_.

 ~

At first, Theron wasn’t sure if the so-called witch of the wilds even had a daemon, but when she joined them in front of the empty and broken Grey Warden chest, he realised it was simply hanging off the end of her stave on a shining line of gossamer. Some kind of spider.

Morrigan scoffed at them all, naturally, and her daemon seemed more focused on spinning a web than the conversation happening around it, as if it was trying to cocoon the stave in silk and hide it from the world. Whenever the witch noticed, she simply rolled her eyes and brushed the cobwebs away with some muttered insult.

“His poison can kill you.” She offered conversationally.

 ~

“Our eyes match now,” was Telahn’s only comment on the Joining, just before they settled down for the night. Tomorrow they would fight.

 

Darkspawn didn’t have daemons. Theron honestly didn’t know why he should have thought any differently.

 ~

“You say you are a hunter, and yet your daemon is a prey animal. I wonder what that says about you?” Morrigan pondered one night on the road away from the Korcari Wilds and the flaming ruins of Ostagar. Her yellow eyes flicked from Theron to Telahn and back curiously.

“Halla aren’t prey.” Theron answered flatly, daring Morrigan to say otherwise. She only smiled at them both, made sure her daemon was skittering around her hand, and then bade them goodnight.

 ~

The tavern in Lothering was cramped, but a flash of black and white and a raucous chirruping drew attention to the redheaded Chantry Sister as they stepped through the door. The noise reached Theron before he saw the source, so for a brief, foolish second he thought it was Reva. No, how could it have been Tamlen? He felt Telahn nudge at his arm consolingly, a moment before Loghain’s men spotted them and a very pleasant afternoon devolved into a tavern brawl.

“I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here.” The redhead introduced herself once the men had been sent running, and her magpie daemon flicked its long tail high in the air as it bowed. “And this is Annette,” she added with a smile.

“Your daemon’s _female_?” Alistair blurted out, drawing several curious looks and a chiding growl from Georgiana.

Leliana nodded, looking almost casual if it wasn’t for the faint smile on her lips.

“She’s quite the conversation piece, no? Perhaps we could finish this conversation after drinks or a meal; you must be exhausted from the road.”

Theron could have sworn he heard Annette laugh as he and Telahn exchanged uncertain looks.

 

Theron had never seen a Qunari before, much less one standing patiently in a cage and talking to… Whatever creature his daemon was. At first he thought it was a silver squirrel hunched on one broad shoulder, but the tail was too long and thin. Then he caught sight of the daemon’s tiny, but humanoid hands as they plucked nervously at the giant’s shirt, and she stared out at them with wide eyes.

“Strange.” He muttered to Telahn, who inclined his head in agreement.

“What kind of animal is she?” Theron asked once the Qunari - Sten - was free of the cage. Giant and wide-eyed daemon turned to him, both staring down at him in contemplative silence.

“ _Imekari_.” They answered in unison.

This time, Theron _did_ hear Annette laugh somewhere behind him.

 ~

Redcliffe was difficult, to say the least. At least the returned dead didn’t have their daemons rotting alongside them. That was a minor relief.

 

Seeing Connor’s daemon shift erratically between forms before it settled on a stoat while he talked in a voice that certainly belonged to no normal child was disturbing.

 

Isode’s red-breasted songbird daemon burst into a shower of gold, and then he was gone.

 

According to Morrigan, demons didn’t have daemons either.

 ~

The only sign that the blond assassin wasn’t dead was the fact his underfed wolf daemon was still alive, her breathing shallow as she lay sprawled in the mud beside him. They’d both been fierce in battle, after their opponent’s daemons as much as their opponents themselves.

“Oh, I rather thought we would wake up dead.” The former Crow sighed as if he was disappointed by the turn of events, while his daemon watched Telahn and Georgiana warily, her ears firmly pressed against her skull. Leliana was busy consoling Annette that her tailfeather would grow back quickly, but the bard still placed enough trust in the assassin that she suggested he live.

“My name’s Sol.” The wolf daemon offered, as if that alone would endear them to the group.

 ~

“I wouldn’t trust him.” Telahn offered sagely the night before Theron invited Zevran into his tent for the first time.

“Told you.” Telahn muttered smugly once the assassin and his wolf had slunk back to his own tent after his second attempt on Theron’s life had been foiled, sniffing at the nick on Theron’s back.

“Mm.” Theron sighed, reaching for something to press against the bleeding wound. “Thanks.” He added, feeling his daemon’s faintly judgemental gaze on him.

“What _do_ you see in him?”

“ _I don’t know_.” Theron whined as he buried his head under the pillow to escape the judgement.

 ~

Theron could feel himself wither under Zathrian’s critical gaze. It was only Telahn’s steady presence that kept him from backing away to go find _any_ other clan under the sun to honour the treaties.

“Theron _Mahariel_. Of the _Sabrae_ clan.” The Keeper repeated the customary greeting back at him, one eyebrow arched disdainfully. “The last time we met, you were barely taller than my knee.”

Theron nodded stiffly. He remembered _that Arlathvhen_ all too well. And now here he was, facing his mother’s clan once again without a single spark of magic to his name, and Zathrian didn’t look a day older now than he had nearly seventeen winters ago. There was still no sign of his daemon, either. It _had_ to be something small enough to hide in the collar of his robes, or a pocket, that was the only explanation.

Zathrian’s gaze swept over his companions; two humans and a city elf. Not the most welcome faces in a camp full of Dalish led by a rather old and traditionalist Keeper. “Word travels. You’ve done a lot in the past few months, _Mahariel_.”

“I suppose I have.” Theron answered.

“I can only hope you’re doing your parents proud. I wonder if you are anything like your mother?”

Theron tensed at that, his shoulders twitching slightly as the line of his jaw hardened.

“Possibly.” Theron all but spat the word out. “If she was a Warden as well, it seems my Keeper failed to tell me.”

The rest of the group looked on in confusion and curiosity at the first ever mention of one of the Dalish elf’s parents, and his unusual reaction to it.

“You come from a long, proud lineage.” The older elf commented, as if in warning. “It would not do to disappoint that expectation.”

“I am not here to discuss my lineage as if I were a halla stud.” Theron answered tersely, voice growing firm as his patience began to fray. Telahn lifted his head up sharply, carved antler tines stabbing at the air.  “I am here about the treaty.”

“Of course.”

 

“So, your mother…?” Zevran began after several minutes of uncomfortable silence as Theron and Telahn led the group deeper into the Brecilian forest, away from the camp.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Came the snappish response, and Theron scowled down at the deer trail he was following as he tried to push Zathrian’s words out of his mind.

 

Theron finally saw Zathrian’s daemon in a room that smelt overbearingly of wolf, surrounded by snarling and growling creatures that were the descendants of cursed humans. Telahn was skittish again and stayed close, while Sol raised her hackles at any werewolves that snapped their teeth close to Zevran.

The noise only stopped when a beautiful woman stepped out of the recesses and shadows of the ruin. Even from a distance, it was easy to tell that she wasn’t human or elf; her skin was tinged green, her eyes were solid black and what looked like tree roots grew around her arms and legs.

“My lady.” Swiftrunner growled, and one by one the werewolves dropped to one knee.

“I bid you welcome, mortals. I am the Lady of the Forest.” She nodded to each of them in turn, her voice calm like a still lake. “No doubt you have questions; there are many things Zathrian has not told you.”

“Like what?” Theron asked.

“It was he who created the curse these creatures suffer, the same curse his own clan now suffers.” The Lady bowed her head. “Centuries ago, a tribe of humans sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was young then, with a son and a daughter he loved greatly. While they were out hunting, the humans captured both of his offspring.”

Swiftrunner’s low growl interrupted them.

“The boy, they tortured… killed. The girl they raped and left to die. She was found, but she later learned she was… with child.” The werewolf snarled, baring his teeth. Theron tried not to shudder. “She… killed herself.” Swiftrunner stepped down from the elevated portion of tiles, pacing around the group. Sol and Georgiana whined nervously, and Telahn’s ears pressed back against his skull. Theron reached a hand out to rest it gently on his daemon’s shoulder.

“And Zathrian cursed the humans responsible in revenge?”

The Lady nodded solemnly. “Please, mortal. You must go to him, bring him here. The curse _must_ be lifted.”

Theron nodded slowly. “I’ll bring him.”

“And make sure to tell him that if he refuses, I will make sure Witherfang will never be found again. He will never cure his clan, and they will either die like flies around him, or join us in this cursed existence.”

 

“Very well. If you wish me to talk to those creatures, I will accompany you down there.” Zathrian said as he started walking down the corridor to the heart of the ruin. “But I tell you again that their nature is unchanged.” Zathrian shook his head. “All they will seek is revenge, but let us see what they have to say first before we reach that end.”

“It _will_ end, one way or the other.” Theron reassured him darkly, Telahn falling into step beside him as they descended into the ruins again.

 

The werewolves immediately began to snarl and pace once Zathrian was among them. The Lady of the Forest remained unmoving at the other end of the room as they approached, her dark eyes fixed on Zathrian and Zathrian alone.

“Witherfang-” The Keeper began.

“I am not Witherfang. Not anymore. I am _not_ what you forced me to be.” The Lady interrupted sharply, and the werewolves growled a chorus of agreement.

“She is the Lady of the Forest, and you will address her properly!” Swiftrunner added sharply.

“You’ve taken a name?”

The Lady shook her head, one hand resting on Swiftrunner’s muscled shoulder.

“It was they who gave me a name, Zathrian. It was they who found me after you abandoned me to the forest.” She answered calmly, but her posture was stiff with rage. “Did you not tell the mortals how the curse was created?”

Zathrian remained silent, and the Lady bowed her head once more.

“Zathrian came to this ruin, this very room, and… changed his very soul. Fractured it and tore it from himself, in the name of vengeance. So Witherfang came to be.” Swiftrunner explained.

“Such powerful magic did not only alter me, but Zathrian as well.” She explained sadly. “It is bound to his blood. The people believe you have rediscovered the immortality your ancestors once possessed, but the truth is darker. As long as the curse exists, so will Zathrian.”

“That is not how it is!” Zathrian answered, looking from the group to the Lady and back.

“You did all of this for revenge.” Theron replied flatly, the disgust and rage simmering low in his stomach. Telahn threw his head back and stamped at the ground.

“I did it for my _children_ , for my _people_!” The Keeper insisted. “For them, I would have done anything.”

Theron was actually glad Zathrian wasn’t within arm’s reach. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, but he was too far away to strike the Keeper.

“Zathrian, _wake up_. Out there, your people are dying by your own hand. Your children died years ago. Would they have wanted all of this?” Theron gestured sharply to the assembled werewolves, the Lady who stood watching them.

“I…” Zathrian breathed.

“The curse would not end with Zathrian’s death, but his life relies on it’s existence. I believe his death will play a part in it’s ending.” The Lady intoned.

“What would you gain from killing me?” Zathrian snapped. “Only I know how the ritual ends, and I will never do it!”

The werewolves growled, and Swiftrunner took a step forward.

“You see, my Lady? They will never help us, none of them! We must kill them all!”

Theron took a step back towards Telahn, and he could hear Sol and Georgiana’s answering growls behind him.

“See? They turn on you as quickly, Mahariel. Do what you have come here to do, or get out of my way.”

“Zathrian, you’ll end that curse even if I have to force you myself.” Theron answered darkly.

“We’re standing for what’s right here,” Alistair spoke up. “No matter what.”

Zathrian looked at the Grey Wardens in disgust, and unshouldered his staff as he backed away from both parties. Out of the corner of his eye, Theron saw a bright shimmer of gold, and when he looked over the Lady had been replaced by a giant white wolf.

“Then you die with them, you idiot whelp!”

 

When Zathrian fell, the Lady survived long enough to lift the curse before she dissolved into bright gold dust.

 ~

Some nights later, Theron was nearly back at camp from collecting water when he saw Zevran leaning against a tree nearby, just outside the reach of the firelight - not that that was difficult given how close together the trees grew. The Dalish elf paused when he realised Zevran was looking at him.

“Ah, Theron, I was wondering if I could have a word before you went back to the others?” The blond asked, and Theron and Telahn exchanged a wary look. After the disastrous first night together that had nearly ended in his death, Theron and Telahn had taken pains not to be alone with Zevran for very long, just in case the assassin decided to try a third time. Now the werewolf problem had been sorted out, they were on the verge of going back to the winding road, where it would be difficult for everyone to avoid each other for very long. So, even if he said no, there was always the chance that Zevran would simply ask again in the nights to come.

“That depends on what you want to talk about.” Theron answered carefully as he stepped closer, wondering if it was another question about the Dalish.

Suddenly, Zevran lunged forwards to slam Theron up against a nearby tree, and the ranger felt the cold press of metal at his throat. Over Zevran’s shoulder he saw Telahn lower his head, curved tines glinting in the dim light as his muscles tensed to charge, but then Sol was between him and the two elves, baring her teeth and growling to keep him at bay.

Theron’s eyes widened as he stared at Zevran, chin lifted up slightly in an instinctive attempt to get away from the dagger held at his throat. Well, this was an interesting start to the conversation.

“I could have killed you dozens of times by now!” Zevran snapped, glaring back at him. There was a certain gleam in his eyes, almost as if he was searching for something, some kind of reaction. “Aren’t you afraid of me?” He asked. “Were you _ever_ afraid?”

Theron was silent, trying to keep his breathing calm. He could feel Telahn’s rage and distress, but willed his daemon not to act on it and risk getting them both hurt. “Yes, and yes.” He answered far more calmly than he felt. “I won’t lie. But I don’t think you’ll try again - not now.” The Dalish elf paused, swallowing, and he could have sworn the pressure on his throat eased slightly. That emboldened him a little. “In fact, if this is your idea of seducing me, you’ll have to do better than this.” Theron added, keeping his chin held high. He stared back at Zevran as calmly as he could despite how his heart pounded in his chest like a running deer. After what felt like an Age of staring at each other, Zevran slowly lowered the dagger, hand falling back to his side as he stepped away, stopped pressing Theron into the rough tree bark. Over Zevran’s shoulder, he could see Sol lowering her hackles. She’d stopped growling, and Telahn was eyeing her warily, muscles still tensed to react if she made a move.

“You are right.” Zevran admitted quietly. “I will have to try much harder to seduce you.” The Antivan mused, a thoughtful and faintly mischievous expression creeping onto his face. “For a start, I think I shall leave all of my weapons in my tent tonight.” Zevran’s lips curled upwards into a wry smirk, stepping back so Theron could rejoin Telahn and calm him.

“I think that would be best.” Theron agreed, slowly returning the smirk with one of his own. The two elves and their daemons fell into step with each other as they returned to camp.

 ~

Oghren’s daemon was a boar sow. Loud and just as eager to charge directly into the fray, two war cries that echoed off the cramped stone tunnels just as loudly as their snores did. Oghren’s daemon was slightly less crude than he was, but she was a surprisingly good source of worldly advice, and her small eyes glinted with knowledge. The two of them stood together outside the gates of Orzammar and stared up at the sky fearfully. Oghren had one arm draped over her coarsely haired back, both of them taking strength in the other one’s presence.

 ~

On the rare occasions Theron grew too tired to walk for one day, Telahn allowed him onto his back as if the daemon was any other halla, often drawing a few envious looks from the others.

“Hylda, could ya-?” Oghren muttered, but his daemon interrupted him with an irritable grunt.

“Sod off, you’d break my back.” She replied briskly.

“Hmph.”

 

“What if I made a chariot, huh?”

“No.”

 ~

“Your daemon is not female, is he?”

Startled, Theron nearly dropped the book he’d been struggling through, and looked up at Leliana.

“I… How did you know?” He asked. Annette was female, obviously. Could… Could people like them sense it in each other? Could their daemons?

“Telahn. I’m not sure how Elvish works, but that names sounds far too masculine for a female daemon.” The bard explained, watching Telahn curiously.

“The others don’t seem to have picked up on it.” Theron admitted, relaxing slightly.

“Sten and Zevran are probably too polite to ask about it, if they know or have suspicions. Oghren and Alistair don’t know yet, otherwise we all would know the second they did. And perhaps Morrigan simply doesn’t view it as worth bringing up?” Leliana suggested.

They all were quiet for a few minutes, and then Theron closed the book.

“It’s a relief, not being the only one like this.” He admitted quietly, as Telahn rested his head on his shoulder reassuringly.

“I know.” Leliana nodded as she offered them both a smile.

 ~

Wynne’s daemon was a snow white dove. He perched on her shoulder and eyed the group just as critically as Wynne herself did. In the battles through the tower he wasn’t much use in combat, but he fluttered around to keep an eye on the group, adding his voice to the din if anyone was seriously injured. He was just as fond of parental nagging and lectures as she was.

 

The Tranquil didn’t have daemons either, which made their blank expressions and monotone voices all the more unsettling. Wynne told them, after Tempest had left, that his daemon had been a lynx.

 ~

Telahn was good in a fight. He stood with his body forming a kind of low shield between Theron and the rest of the fight, eyes and ears straining to take in the whole fight at once. He barked warnings to the others when they or their daemons were under threat. In battles, particularly with other rogues or morally challenged warriors, the weaker daemons of the group were often targeted. Annette as she screeched overhead, a fluttering blur of black and white that harried the daemon of whoever Leliana was engaged with. Sten’s silver marmoset daemon as she clung to one of his shoulder guards in the thick of battle and warned him of oncoming enemies. Wynne’s Avira - although they were both smart enough to keep out of the worst of the fight. Telahn was a target as well, sometimes, when others thought the carved tines were simple decorations, or that he was as frail as a regular deer. They would get within range, and Telahn would charge to either scare them off or gore them if they weren’t quick enough. It was rare that Telahn fought in close combat to defend himself and Theron, but his hooves were just as lethal as his antlers.

“Good one!” Oghren yelled when he happened to catch the moment Telahn shattered a man’s lower jaw with a well-timed box, and Hylda whooped her approval as dwarf and daemon charged to their aid.

 ~

“Asala.” Sten spoke up one night on watch. Theron tore his gaze away from feeding grass stalks into the fire, and Telahn’s ears flicked forwards in drowsy curiosity.

“What?”

“ _Asala_ means soul.” The Qunari elaborated, his small but nimble daemon perched on the log beside him as he cleaned dust off his reclaimed longsword. Both were as grey as smoke in the firelight, and it was difficult to tell if he was talking about the sword or his daemon.

 ~

Ghouls didn’t have daemons, either. Tamlen stood there in the calf-deep snow, pitifully alone and silent, and begged for death.

“It was a mercy. They’re together again.” Telahn said afterwards as he lay in the snow next to Theron, his breath mist in the cold as he tried to offer his bulk as shelter from the wind and cold. He did his best to keep the Dalish elf warm as the grief overwhelmed them both until Sol lead Zevran to them and Tamlen’s cooling body.

 ~

Fort Drakon left both elf and daemon with scars. In Telahn’s case, some of them took a long time to heal. They refused to be out of sight of each other, for one thing, and the first time Wynne tried to use healing magic on the raw burns while they were conscious, Telahn’s nerve broke completely - along with the table and several glass-bottled healing potions he knocked over in his panic.

 ~

At the post-coronation ceremony, Telahn bore the flowers weaved into his tines with the same patience as Theron did with the itching shirt. Both had been Leliana’s suggestion, unsurprisingly.

“If _one_ more noble says I’m a pretty doe…” The stag grumbled ominously, eyeing up the nearest stone wall as if he was seriously considering scraping off every trace of the flowers without Theron’s help, to hell with the damage it would cause his antlers.

“They’re wrong.” Theron muttered back from yet another ale, leaning against Telahn. “You’re clearly a _beautiful_ doe. Those foxgloves look stunning next to the ivy.”

“I hate you.” Telahn lied, shaking his head irritably, but the flowers were tied firmly in place. He looked over wistfully at Sten and Asala, who were on the other side of the room. Short of yelling in the hopes it would bring them over, there was no way he was able to ask the one daemon in the room with opposable thumbs to save him from the floral torment without making a scene.

 ~

“Did I ever tell you my daemon’s name?” Theron asked one night as they lay in bed together, watching Zevran curiously. Telahn and Sol lay together quietly just out of reach on the floor, their closed eyes giving their elves the illusion of privacy. Given how their elves had certainly gotten to know each other well enough over the months to share sleeping quarters, they were more comfortable together now than at the start. Comfortable enough to touch, in fact, if they both felt like sharing their personal space.

“I think I picked it up over the course of our travels. It is Telahn, yes?” The Antivan replied, and Telahn’s ears flicked forward automatically. “She truly is beautiful.”

That got Telahn to open his eyes and lift his head up, and Theron cleared his throat awkwardly.

“What?” Zevran asked, frowning in confusion before realisation hit. His expression turned into one of honest regret. “My apologies to you both, I should not have overstepped that boundary. It is far more common in Antiva to-”

Theron shook his head.

“It’s not that - although I’m sure Telahn’s flattered. But _he_ ,” Theron stressed the word, waiting for whatever Zevran’s reaction would be. “is not a doe.” He bit the inside of his lip nervously, and Telahn’s ears went back uncertainly. Zevran and Sol stared at them both for a second, and then looked at each other. Some unspoken moment of communication passed between them, and then Zevran nodded.

“He is a very handsome stag, then.” The blond corrected himself with a winning smile directed at the halla daemon. “Although you should have told me sooner; now I can’t stop thinking about all the times I called Telahn ‘she’.” He groaned, leaning back on the bed to put a hand over his eyes.

Theron smirked, and Telahn let out a low cough of amusement.

“You’ve only just found out. Spare a thought for Alistair, it’s been a year and he _still_ hasn’t figured it out.”

“So many opportunities for buck jokes passed by… Does he ever speak?”

“Alistair? He never stops.”

“No, I mean Telahn. I have never heard him talk.”

Theron and Telahn exchanged a glance. Telahn kept his mouth firmly shut.

“When he wants to.” Theron answered vaguely. Zevran sighed again.

“So he _can_ speak. That is good enough for me, then.”

Telahn stared thoughtfully at Zevran, his grey eyes wide.

“It’ll have to be.” The daemon answered.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Revasulahn - Freedom's song  
> Telahn - Without voice
> 
> Concrit on this piece or any others I've posted would be much appreciated!


End file.
